


do you wrong, do me right

by pancakefucker



Category: Naruto
Genre: Divorce, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Past Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Past Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto, how delighted i am that that's a tag lmfaooooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakefucker/pseuds/pancakefucker
Summary: Sakura asks for a divorce. Sasuke obliges. Sakura's gay. Everything kind of snowballs from there.





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, Sasuke really should have seen it coming. 

Their marriage was always built on shaky foundations. His desire to marry Sakura wasn’t borne out of love—he does love her, but not in the way people who get married are supposed to love each other; a fact he realized too late—but something more like admiration. Respect. Duty. Obligation. 

He owed her. She’d been holding out for him, even after all this time. 

Everyone else had already started dating—just a year after the war, and everyone from Konoha so eager to jump right back into the mundanity of life. Romance, and love, and everything that came with it. Sasuke couldn’t blame them, not with all the strange and horrendous things they’d all seen in the war. Naruto had Hinata, Kakashi had either Gai or Iruka (Sasuke couldn’t tell), and who did Sakura have?

Nobody. 

(He’d noticed, in that distant sort of way that he’d always had when it came to things like these, that Sakura had lost all the babyishness she’d had when they were genin and had grown into someone strong and beautiful. Someone admirable. She saved his life.)

He owed her.

So he’d asked her, after some time, if she wanted to come along with him on his travels.      Sakura had been surprised, but offered no hesitance when she agreed. She packed her things. She asked few questions, only pleased to be with Sasuke and bask in his companionship. They traveled south, to where the weather was muggy and humid, and Sakura pinned up Sasuke’s hair and her own. They traveled west, towards deserts and caravans and villages surrounded by plains and dusty mesas. They traveled north, towards snow-capped mountains and for a while lived off of nothing but elk meat and winter roots. 

And Sakura hadn’t complained. Not only that, but she seemed to be enjoying their travels thoroughly. The meeting new people, the traveling to new places, the hard living, the camping, the hiking—everything. It brought out a sort of glow in her, since she was so perpetually flushed with excitement, and eagerness, and Sasuke knew it wasn’t just because of him. He’d even be as bold to say his presence probably hardly factored into Sakura’s pleasure at all. 

They talked, too. As equals and more importantly, as  _ friends _ . 

They talked about Naruto. They talked about what Sasuke missed out on the years he was gone. They talked about which best roads to take, which places to avoid, which gang strongholds they could hit and loot, and which medicinal herbs to pack up on, and Sasuke learned as much from Sakura as she did from him. 

They were friends, once again. Good friends even. Something like affection and fondness had wormed its way into Sasuke’s heart, whenever he and Sakura exchanged smiles at each other. 

So why did it come as such a surprise, that one night, Sakura had sat down right next to him at the campfire and kissed him?

_ You had to have seen this coming _ , a part of him thought.  _ Idiot. _

She pulled away, tilting her face up at Sasuke, searching for something. Her face was cast in light and shadow, her eyes green and brilliant, even against the orange warmth of the campfire light. Without thinking, Sasuke tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and let his fingers linger at her cheek. Distantly, Sasuke wondered what he should do. Run? Fall over and faint? Tell Sakura that he was about to die in a week’s time and never return to her, ever? 

_ You owe her _ .

She was beautiful, and Sasuke was hit with this fact like a slap in the face. She was beautiful, and Sasuke would probably never find any woman more beautiful than her, no one as kind and strong and stubborn and capable as her, and Sasuke thought about Naruto, who had Hinata, thought about Kakashi, who had Iruka/Gai, and he thought about Sakura who had nothing but the torch she kept lit for Sasuke, for so, so fucking long. He owed her. She was his friend. And isn’t that how all relationships are built? On friendships? Sasuke liked her, in his own abstract way. And looking into Sakura’s eyes like this, Sasuke thought he could grow to love her, too. 

Fuck it, Sasuke thought, and leaned forward to kiss Sakura back. 

Observe; the laying down of the foundations of a marriage never built to last. 

  
  
  


Four years later, Sasuke and Sakura are talking about divorce. 

He didn’t bring it up, Sakura did. She brought it up casually, even though it sounded very clearly practiced. There was no  _ We need to talk _ moment, not from Sakura. Bold and forthcoming, right to the end. Trust her not to soften the blow. 

The only thing that gave her away was the expression she wore on her face, the inhalation of breath. Sasuke has seen her do this before. When she has to reset bone, or cut something out—when she has to break something to make it better. 

And isn’t that a hell of a metaphor for their divorce? 

“I should have seen this coming,” Sasuke says, after a lull in the conversation. The one that they’re currently having about divorce. “I think I probably did. Just—dunno. Wanted to hold onto it.”

There are two wine glasses in between the both of them. The wine is some foreign import from somewhere, given to Sakura as a gift by a patient whose life she’d saved. Between the two of them, by now, they’ve probably drank maybe four glasses. Sakura has had three of them. 

“You should have done better, then,” Sakura says. She sighs. Sasuke does not like the fact that she sounds remarkably sober for someone who has three glasses of wine. He suspects it has something to do with her chakra control or something. “Did you even want to get married to me?”

“I proposed, didn’t I?”

“But did you  _ want _ to get married?”

Sasuke considers getting a second glass. “I liked you. I thought it would be enough.” 

“You didn’t love me,” Sakura says, sighing again. “Do you marry people you just  _ like _ ?”

That second glass is starting to seem more and more appealing by the second. “I love you. I don’t doubt that I do—just, not in the way you want.”

Sakura rubs her temples, and the gesture makes Sasuke feel like a child, somehow. As if Sakura is an exasperated parent and not Sasuke’s wife. “Shit. And here I thought it was just me.”

“You don’t love me either,” Sasuke says. 

“No, I love you. Just not in the way you want.” She smiles, sardonically, at her repetition of Sasuke’s words. “Look at us. Two people who kind of don’t love each other who somehow managed to stay married for four years.”

“And have a child,” Sasuke says.

“And have a child,” Sakura says. 

Sarada is fast asleep. Sasuke had put her to bed several hours ago, tucked her in, and kissed her goodnight. How far-flung away she seems, from all of this, this midnight conversation, the wine glasses, the way Sakura keeps glancing down at the table grain. 

“Sasuke,” Sakura says, and she bites her lower lip. “There’s one other thing.”

“What?”

Another deep inhalation. She holds her breath for a second, looks Sasuke right in the eye, and says, “l think I might be gay.”

Sasuke gets that second glass of wine. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Listen,” Sakura says. “That’s the sound of my heart breaking.”

Sakura is drunk. Sasuke is halfway there himself, but managing to cling onto sobriety much better than Sakura, who’s lying down on the couch, idly playing with Sasuke’s hair as he sits down on the ground in front of her. Sasuke’s read some trashy novels about these kinds of things, divorces, heartbreak, the kind of things you read when you have nothing better to do while you’re traveling through places, or waiting out, or staking out, or anything that involves waiting for long periods of time. He’d thought there’d be more screaming and shouting involved given what he remembers from those books, but there was none of that. Just quiet conversation, dipping into drunken honesty, but always spoken in careful tones. They have a daughter to think of. 

And there is also this. Sakura tugging on Sasuke’s hair, her fingers grazing on his scalp. Take away the marriage, but you can’t take away everything that’s left—the fondness, the ease with which conversation flows, the years of being around each other, the comfort. 

“I don’t hear anything,” Sasuke says, tipping his head back, to better look at Sakura. “How drunk are you?”

“A heart doesn’t make any sound when it’s breaking, asshole,” Sakura says, tucking a lock of hair behind Sasuke’s ear. “And I’m more sober than you. Lightweight.”

“Are you sad?”

Sakura closes her eyes. “A little bit. Not for us. We’re not exactly good together—but for all the time we wasted. We could have been doing anything else.”

“Doing other people, you mean?” Sasuke asks, and Sakura makes as if to hit the back of Sasuke’s head, but she fails, and instead just settles for a hearty pat.

“Don’t know. Just wish I did more, saw other people instead of just settling down. You know?”

Sasuke doesn’t know. His whole life, it had been chasing after Itachi, and when that ended, trying to change the world. He never really thought about what would come after. There was the whole thing about clan revival, but he never thought about that thing. Just assumed that there would be some Uchiha—they were a pretty big clan—sequestered off somewhere. If things came to the worst, he’d thought, nearly a decade ago, he’d ask Karin to hold onto his sperm or something. 

Both notions are, in retrospect, really fucking funny. 

“What’s so funny?” Sakura asks.

Sasuke hadn’t realized he was smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking about how I never thought my life would be this.”

“A lesbian ex-wife and a daughter?”

“No, just—the thing we were before. Husband, wife, daughter. That whole thing. You really regret it?”

Sakura lets out a sigh. “Here’s the thing. Wish I didn’t get married at nineteen just because everyone else was doing it. Wish I saw other people and figure myself out and all that shit.” Her hand goes down, to toy with Sasuke’s hair again. “But Sarada—I don’t regret her. She’s mine. Do  _ you _ regret her?”

Sasuke’s answer comes without hesitation. “No. Never.” 

“Good,” Sakura says, and she yawns. Stretches on the couch, and places a pillow below her head. “Promise me—” another yawn—“promise me you’ll be a better father than a hubby. Husband.” She waves her hand in the air, ineffectually. “You know.”

Sasuke feels sad, all of a sudden. “Yeah. I promise.”

“Okay. Good. I’m gonna nap for a bit.” 

Sasuke wants to nap too. “You do that.”

Sakura does that. Sasuke sits there for a while, just watching Sakura. He gets up to get a blanket, and throws it over Sakura. 

And then he summons his eagle and sends a message to the first person he can think of. 

  
  


“I have a phone, Sasuke,” Naruto grumbles, as he sits right next to Sasuke, under the warm lamplight of Ichiraku’s Ramen. “You have a phone. We both have phones. So why do you still send birds at this hour of the night like some sort of crazy villain?”

Naruto complains, but there’s something like excitement and fondness in his voice--they’re friends, after all, after all this time, nothing could really change that. Not even Sasuke’s refusal to use a phone, and Naruto’s belief that the best place to meet at any time after 9 PM was at Ichiraku’s Ramen. They’re grown adults now, but whenever Sasuke meets Naruto outside of the Ichiraku Ramen, he feels like they’re boys again, thirteen and worn out and hungry from training, arguing and bickering over hot bowls of ramen, wheedling Kakashi into paying for their meals. Sakura had used to offer to pay for Sasuke, initially—Sasuke always refused—but then she followed Naruto’s step, pestering Kakashi to pay for her. Jonin pay, Kakashi-sensei, you’re a jonin, you’re richer than god, just pay for us already. 

Naruto’s still waiting for an answer.

“I used to be a crazy villain, remember? And then you rescued me from the darkness,” Sasuke says. “The villain lives in me, still.”

“Stop making excuses because you’re an old man who hates progress,” Naruto says, and his eyes go alight when he glances at Ichiraku Ramen’s menu. Why he even bothers to look at the menu is beyond Sasuke. Half the time he gets miso char siu, extra pork, and the other half he takes any random bowl, and then gets a second bowl of char siu. 

“So tell me what’s so important that you couldn’t wait to tell me till morning?” Naruto asks, after he gives his order to Ayame for a miso char siu, with extra pork. Sasuke ordered beer.

“Promise to me you won’t get angry,” Sasuke says.

“Nope,” Naruto says. “I mean, unless you murdered someone I like, like Kakashi-sensei, or Shikamaru, then I’d be very angry. Sasuke, did you murder my friends? Is that why you called me?”

“Well, I did murder something. But it was an agreeable murdering. Mutual, you might call it. Nobody was harmed except this relationship.”

Naruto squints at Sasuke. “Are you drunk?”

“Half-way there, actually.” 

“Did you get drunk and homewreck someone’s relationship, Sasuke?” Naruto asks, in mock horror. “You have a wife! A daughter!”

“Shut up. Just listen,” Sasuke says. He inhales, exhales. Looks Naruto right in the eye. “Sakura and I are getting divorced.” 

Naruto is silent. A few seconds pass by, and Naruto is still silent. He’s staring at Sasuke. He opens his mouth, and then closes it. Frowns. Looks away. Looks at Sasuke. Looks away again. 

“Okay,” Naruto says. He takes a breath and takes a sudden interest in the grain of the countertop. “Alright.” 

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” Sasuke says. 

“I’m not the one getting divorced,” Naruto says. He’s still staring at the countertop. “Why?”

Wasn’t that a question. Why? It’s not like they hated each other. There was never anything heated between Sakura and Sasuke, when you got down to it, really. Just something amicable. Hardly any drama or passion. 

And that was the problem, Sakura had said. It’s not like they’re even married. Their relationship wasn’t even a candle to a bonfire--that would take there being some sort of flame in the first place. It was just there. An afterthought. Like they were two roommates who agreed on having a child.

“Things just didn’t work out.” Sasuke wonders if he should tell Naruto about the gay thing. But he also thinks the gay thing is a pretty big thing, and Sakura would probably like it if Sasuke kept his mouth shut about the gay thing unless she told him it was okay to talk about the gay thing. 

“There’s more,” Naruto says. Now he’s looking at Sasuke.

When the hell did Naruto get so astute? Was Sasuke thinking too hard about the gay thing? Did Naruto pick up on Sasuke’s brainwaves or something? “What? No, there isn’t.” 

“Did you cheat on her?” Naruto asks. 

“No,” Sasuke says. 

“Did she cheat on you?” Naruto asks. 

“There was no cheating involved.” 

“Then why?”

“We don’t love each other,” Sasuke answers. It’s a simple answer, and it’s true. 

“That’s  _ it _ ?” There it is. The anger, the incredulity. “You’re breaking your family apart just because you two don’t think you love each other?”

_ Sakura’s a lesbia n _ _,_ Sasuke wants to scream.  _ My wife is a lesbian, and I’m very proud of her, and even if she wasn’t we don’t have to stay married just because it’s expected of us. _

Instead, he says, “Would you rather we spend the rest of our lives resenting each other for holding each other down instead of seeing other people?” 

“So you want to see other people,” Naruto says, and he sounds just a tad bit more angry. “You’re both going to stop being married and stop being parents to your kid because—”

“Naruto,” Sasuke says, “we’re not going to stop being parents because we’re divorced.”

“How the hell is this going to work for Sarada? Are you and Sakura going to live together, while the both of you bring over different people to your home in front of your kid? Are you going to live somewhere else, and just slingshot your kid back and forth like she’s some sort of ball? Have you thought about her at all?” Naruto is starting to get louder and louder, and Ayame looks over with curiosity. 

Sasuke places his hand on Naruto’s sleeve. “If you’re going to act childish about this, don’t do it in public,” he says, as evenly as he can. 

“I’m not being childish,” Naruto says, and he yanks his sleeve away from Sasuke’s touch. “I’m wondering why my best friends are divorcing each other. I’m trying to understand, Sasuke, and it just doesn’t fucking track.” 

“Let me put it this way for you,” Sasuke says. “Would you get married to Hinata if you didn’t love her?”

“No,” Naruto says. Sasuke can tell he’s rankled Naruto by bringing Hinata into the comparison. 

“Well, I proposed to Sakura even though I didn’t love her—incredible lack of foresight on my part, I’ll grant you that—and then I got married to her. Would you stay married to Hinata if you didn’t love her?” 

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to propose to Hinata if I didn’t love her in the first place,” Naruto says, and there’s a lot of smugness just emanating from him, “but no, I wouldn’t.” 

“So you’d stay married to Hinata if you had a child with her?” 

“Yes, because another living human being in the equation changes everything,” Naruto says. “Then the effects of me and Hinata splitting isn’t just limited to us. Our son comes in there, too.” 

Ayame brings over a bowl of hot ramen for Naruto, and Naruto instantly turns away from Sasuke, putting on a smile and thanking Ayame profusely. Ayame gets a beer bottle, and a glass for Sasuke, and after Sasuke thanks her and Ayame leaves to tend to other customers, Sasuke pours some beer out for himself. 

“Where were we?” Naruto asks, and he says his thanks out loud before breaking his chopsticks. “Yeah, I think it would be selfish to just split up when we have a child to think of.”

“We are thinking of Sarada,” Sasuke counters. “Do you think Sarada would want to grow up with two parents who resent each other for holding each other down? Or do you think she’d be better off with two parents who still talk and support each other even if they’re both separated?”

“She’s  _ three _ , Sasuke,” Naruto says, and Sasuke can tell he’s trying his hardest to speak as calmly as he can. “You think she’s going to understand any of that? Why don’t you and Sakura just wait? Wait until she’s older--” 

“Because,” Sasuke says, and now he’s the one raising his voice, “we spent enough time waiting. Sakura’s sick of pretending. And maybe I am too. It’s not honest, and it’s not right for two people to pretend just to—” he falters, searching for the words—“just to keep up some facade.” 

“So your family is a facade, now?” Naruto says, and he knows it’s not what Sasuke meant at all, and Sasuke knows he’s just trying to bait Sasuke. It’s working.

“Naruto,” Sasuke says. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you how stupid you’re being?” 

“Don’t tell me that I’m doing something stupid when I’m respecting Sakura’s wishes. When I’m being human, and doing the right thing. Not everyone has the perfect cookie cutter marriage like you and Hinata.” 

“Then maybe you should  _ try _ . Love takes work, Sasuke.”

Sasuke drinks some of his beer. 

“Sure, just drink your worries away,” Naruto mutters, and he picks some noodles up with his chopsticks and stuffs it into his mouth. “That’s always worked out for everyone.”

Naruto keeps on muttering under his breath, as he continues to stuff his mouth with food. Sasuke is only mildly surprised by Naruto’s outrage—of course Naruto, who was an orphan from the beginning, who never really had a chance for a family would take it as a personal offense that Sasuke and Sakura were even thinking about divorce. Of course he’d be attached to the idea of a picture-perfect family, of convention, of tradition, of things he didn’t really have a chance to experience as a child. What did he even think divorce was? Something that only happened to people who hated each other, to people twice as old as Sasuke and Sakura, to people whom Naruto didn’t know? 

“What’re you staring at me for?” Naruto asks, around a mouthful of food. 

“Just thinking,” Sasuke says. “About why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because you and Sakura are my best friends,” Naruto says, sighing. He sets his chopsticks down. “And I’m like, Sarada’s second dad.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Just—I love you all a lot. I don’t want to see you guys drifting apart because of this.”

“We saved the world together,” Sasuke says, trying for reassurance. “I don’t think something as mundane as divorce is enough to make us grow apart.”

“I don’t know, Sasuke,” Naruto says, and there’s a bitter smile playing at his mouth. “We’re all growing up. And you need to grow apart to get enough space to grow up.” 

“Don’t try to be wise, Naruto, it doesn’t suit you.” Sasuke fills up his glass with more beer and passes it to Naruto. He lifts up the beer bottle to his mouth, and takes another sip. “Everything will be fine. I promise.” 

Naruto gingerly looks at Sasuke’s glass, and takes a sip, and makes a face. He looks at Sasuke balefully, and Sasuke can’t help it—old habits die hard—he smirks, right in Naruto’s face.

“To never growing up,” Sasuke says, lifting his bottle in the air, in front of Naruto.

And Naruto lets out a huff, and clinks the glass against Sasuke’s bottle. “To never growing up.” 

 

 

An hour and a half later, Naruto and Sasuke are completely drunk. 

They’d left Ichiraku, swapped it for something more enclosed, and something with more options for alcohol. Sasuke cannot remember who suggested that they go to a bar instead, but now he’s here, definitely drunk, and Naruto’s looking pretty drunk himself.

It’s late in the night, and Sasuke thinks Naruto should probably go back home. He’s got a wife. A son, and another child or something. Hinata’s expecting.

Sometimes Sasuke wonders if Naruto is handsome or not. He has a strong, rounded out jaw. Girlish lashes. Soft and rounded out features on a strong angular face. Sasuke doesn’t know if Naruto’s handsome—he’s so used to Naruto’s face, like the way someone is so used to their home, that they don’t think about whether it’s beautiful or not. It’s just home. Naruto’s just like home. 

“How—why—how did you know you loved Hinata?” Sasuke asks, swirling his drink around in his glass. “Like, genuinely. How did you know?

The bar is nearly empty, save for a couple of other patrons. It’s not a bad bar—it’s dim, and cozy, and smelling faintly of alcohol and greasy food like every bar ever. Naruto’s hair catches the light, bringing out the gold in it.

“I didn’t,” Naruto says, and his face is settled on his forearms on the table. He’s looking up at Sasuke from under his lashes. “I mean, I did. She loved me for so long, I realized, I loved her back too. Like ramen.”

“Like ramen,” Sasuke repeats. He looks at Naruto through the glass. “So you love her like you love ramen?”

“Yeah,” Naruto says. “Sure. I love her like ramen.”

“Wow. You must love her a lot.”

“I do. She’s my wife.”

“What was your first date like?” Sasuke asks. He thinks he knows. Naruto told him. He doesn’t remember.

“Ramen,” Naruto says, like he’s trying his best to speak. He buries his face into his forearms. “We went out for ramen.”

“Tight,” Sasuke says. 

A lull in the conversation. Sasuke downs the rest of his drink in one go, and when he looks at Naruto again, Naruto’s looking back, intently. 

“So what do people do after they get divorced?” he asks.

Sasuke thinks of the novels he’d read. “Get drunk. Make bad decisions. Date other people.”

“Oh fuck. Does this mean I’m going to have to be your wingman?” Naruto asks. He looks panicked. “What if someone hits on  _ me _ ?”

Sasuke pretends to give Naruto a once-over, and raises one very disdainful eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

And Naruto is thirteen again. “Shut the hell up, turd-face. Duckbutt hair. Goofy looking ass. Who’s going to marry you ever again, asshole? With a face like that?”

“Hey, if we’re both ugly as hell, maybe you should marry me.”

Naruto gives it thought. “And Hinata?”

“Eh, she’ll be fine,” Sasuke says, waving his hand. “We’d kill the marriage game.”

“Would we?”

“Some fuckin’ glowing god told us we were basically like, soulmates,” Sasuke says. “You’re yan and I’m ying. That’s the definition of killing it.” 

“It’s yin and yang,” Naruto corrects. God, he’s fucking annoying.

“God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“And you’re fucking ugly,” Naruto says. He’s grinning. 

“Now we both know that isn’t true, but I’ll humor you.” Sasuke says—drawls, more like. “So you’re going to marry me? Is that a yes?”

“Are you going to divorce me like you did Sakura?”

Sasuke counters without even thinking. “Are you going to turn out to be gay like Sakura?” 

Oh shit.  _ Shit.  _ Naruto’s eyes widen, slightly, and Sasuke holds his breath.

“We’re going to be married, Sasuke,” Naruto says, slowly. “Of course I have to be gay to be married to you.”

Sasuke doesn’t understand. Sasuke thinks Naruto doesn’t understand either. 

Play it cool, Sasuke. Play it cool. “Shame you aren’t gay, though.”

Cool as a fucking cucumber.

“Yeah,” Naruto says, cracking a grin. “Shame. We’ll figure somethin’ out though, won’t we? We always do.”

“I never wanted to get married,” Sasuke says, sighing. He looks into his glass. 

“Then why’d you marry Sakura?”

“I just—I felt like I owed her. Because she loved me for so long. And I liked her. She was strong, brave. I respected her. And it’s not like I had many options.”

“I know I called you ugly,” Naruto says. “But you’re not that ugly. You would have found someone.”

“I didn’t want to. I knew Sakura. And I liked her enough to think I would eventually love her. Never did.”

“That’s messed up,” Naruto says.

“Isn’t it?” Sasuke sets his glass down on the table, and mimics Naruto’s pose, folding his forearms onto the table, and resting his chin on top. “And now I’m twenty three, and already divorced. Imagine that. Why the hell did we all marry so young?”

“The war,” Naruto says. He yawns. “I think we were all just happy to be alive. So we just…fucked.”

“Like how after every war the population booms? Just so happy to be alive people start fucking like rabbits?” Sasuke asks, and that gets a derisive snort from Naruto. 

“Not me. I love Hinata,” Naruto says. He blinks. Sits up straight. “Sasuke, I  _ love _ Hinata.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And I should probably get back home,” Naruto says, more to himself than anything.

“Yes. You should.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Who does, these days?”

Naruto sniffles. “I miss you. I miss  _ us _ . We should hang out more.”

“How about this,” Sasuke says, starting to get up, and pulling his wallet out of his pocket. He puts a couple of ryo onto the table, before Naruto can offer to pay. “We can make plans to hang out sober. Get Boruto and Sarada on a play date, and use that as an excuse to be just a couple of dudes together.”

“You sexy genius,” Naruto says, grinning up at Naruto. “You ugly, sexy genius.”

Sasuke offers his hand to Naruto. “But for now, let’s get you home.”

Naruto takes Sasuke’s hand. The smile he gives Sasuke—all warm, and bright, and fond—makes the pit of Sasuke’s stomach grow warm. 

“Okay,” Naruto says, squeezing Sasuke’s hand. “Take me home, babe.” 

  
  
  
  


Naruto’s nearly dozing off his feet when Sasuke finally gets him home. 

It still surprises Sasuke sometimes, that Naruto lives in such a big house. As if Naruto would be perpetually stuck in the apartment back from half a decade ago. It should make sense. Naruto, hero, family man, married to the heiress of the Hyuuga clan. It should fit him, and the roles he’s taken on, the changes he’s undergone, but it’s hard to think of Naruto as any of that when Naruto’s whining into Sasuke’s ear.

“Sasukeeeeee,” Naruto whines, and he’s fully resting his weight on Sasuke. “Sasuke, you have to carry me. Like I’m a princess.” 

“If you’re a princess, does that make me your knight?” Sasuke asks, sarcastically. 

They’re nearly almost there to the door of Naruto’s home. The lights are all off, except for one at the window. Sasuke wonders if Hinata’s been waiting. 

“No,” Naruto says. “That makes you the dragon. Ugh, just carry me. What’s the point of working out and fighting and shit if you can’t even carry the future Hokage?”

“Ask Hinata to carry you. Come on, you fat idiot, just a few more steps.” 

“Who’re you calling fat? You’re fat. Fatass. I can hear you jiggle from a mile away.” Naruto slaps at Sasuke’s stomach. “Your abs are jiggling, Sasuke.”

They’re at the door, and Sasuke’s just about to ring the door and leave Naruto all alone on the doorstep, when the door swings open. 

It’s Hinata. So she was waiting. 

“Naruto,” Hinata says, softly. No, wait. Her voice is rarely anything but soft. She looks at Naruto, and then at Sasuke, and Sasuke’s about to say something when Naruto speaks.

“Hinata! Darling!” Naruto half-yells, and Sasuke winces. “Ramen of my life! Look, it’s Sasuke!”

“I can see that, dear,” Hinata says. She’s smiling. Not angry. “Do you want to come inside?”

“Can you carry me, Hinata?” Naruto asks.

“I—I don’t think I can?”

Naruto looks at Sasuke, as if Sasuke would understand his plight.

“Sorry,” Sasuke says, to Hinata. “He drank more than I did.” 

Naruto straightens himself, walks right into Hinata and drapes himself all over her. She blinks, and is somehow still  _ smiling _ , and Sasuke just doesn’t get it. If she were Sakura, then Naruto would be getting yelled at, and Sakura would be lecturing him, saying things like  _ how could you, I was worried about you, you’re an asshole _ _,_ and is that what love is? Not asking any questions and smiling and being soft and gentle no matter what? To let one person go away, and wait, patiently, for them to come back home? Or is love the fondness in the way Hinata holds Naruto, looking at him as if he could never do any wrong, and Naruto just resting his full weight on Hinata, savoring the warmth of her body?

There’s a small and sharp spike of jealousy, spearing right through Sasuke’s gut. No wonder he and Sakura could never work out. They never had this. Not with this amount of warmth, this amount of ease. He wonders if he’ll ever have anything like this. 

“I should go,” Sasuke says.

“Are you sure?” Hinata asks, breaking her attention away from Naruto to talk to Sasuke. “You should come in. I can make you some tea and—”

“No, I should really go back home,” Sasuke says, smiling at Hinata. “You take care of him.”

Naruto is silent. Probably sleeping on his feet.

“I will,” Hinata says. There is kindness in her eyes. “Thank you for bringing him back home.”

“It’s the least I could do after getting him shitfaced.” He steps back from the door, and he thinks he spots a head of blonde hair somewhere in the hallway behind Hinata. Must be Boruto. “Tell Boruto I said hello. And tell his father to pace himself next time.”

“Of course,” Hinata says. “And could you tell Sakura and Sarada hello from me as well?”

“Sure,” Sasuke says. Knowing that the both of them have run out of things to say to each other, Sasuke starts moving away from the door. “I should really get going. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sasuke,” Hinata says.

Sasuke lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. He turns away from the Uzumaki household, and starts heading back home.

And not for the first time in his life, Uchiha Sasuke thinks about love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol so much for updating it by the next day...anyways, thank you for reading and the kudos!


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to kiwi, whose kind words and encouragement were motivation enough for me to keep writing. to chante, who kinda made me laugh with her scathing remark on straight dude sasuke. min, my misogynist queen. and last but not the least, to oli, for helping me out !!

They tell Sarada about the divorce, explaining it to her in the simplest possible terms. _Mama and Papa are going to live separately, later. Mama and Papa are still going to be Mama and Papa. Mama and Papa will still see you as often as they can._

 

Which turned out for the best. Sarada wasn’t too upset. She took the news better than Naruto did, and Sasuke tells as much to Sakura, who makes a face at Sasuke. 

 

It’s like everything’s changed, and yet, it feels that same. Things that are different: Sakura laughing more easily, smiling more, the easier way she held herself around Sasuke (which meant she must have been tensed up around him, all the time), and how she’s friendlier, almost. She comes home earlier from her shifts at the hospital. Her voice louder, clearer. Things that are the same: Sakura ruffling Sasuke’s hair, quiet nights of conversation, taking turns feeding Sarada, helping each other out in the kitchen. Under the false skin of their marriage, still, there was a friendship that was real and honest, something born out of years and years of knowing each other.

 

And still, no love. 

 

Sasuke’s not stupid--he knows what love feels like, knows the biting edge of heartbreak and grief, and the warmth of a mother’s touch and a father’s praise. The problem was how he’d thought that the soft, brief flashes of affection and fondness he felt for Sakura--when she laughed so loud she snorted, when she was deep in concentration--was a prelude to something more. Something more what? Intense? Gut-wrenching? Passionate?  He’d have been content, living like this for the next few decades of his life, ignoring that yearning in his gut for more, more, _more_. It was stupid to want more than he had, he’d thought. He had friends that loved him and stuck by him, he had a second chance, he had redemption. To hunger for more was idiotic--this was what life was. What life is. The bare minimum--in love, in life, in everything--was more than he ever deserved. It didn’t matter if he didn’t believe in that completely, but having a chance at normalcy was more than he’d have ever hoped for. Sometimes, more than he deserved.

 

“That’s not true,” Sakura says, insistent. 

 

Another late-night conversation, over sake, Sarada in bed and the debris of trying to get Sarada to finish off her food strewn around the floor—toys, grains of rice, and crayons with ripped out pages for coloring.

 

“What do you mean it’s not true?” Sasuke asks.

 

 “You’re so—so self-loathing. Which one of us is gay here? I’m supposed to be the one with the self-loathing.” Sakura sniffs her drink, before taking another sip. “All this talk about second-chances and redemption. It’s so--I wish I told you this before, but it’s so stupid.” 

 

“You think?” Sasuke asks.

              

“Of course I do. You saved the world. Or helped save it. I don’t think it matters what you do afterwards.” 

              

Sasuke runs his finger around the rim of his glass, drawing slow, lazy circles. “I’m not self-loathing. I’m holding myself responsible.”

              

“For what?”

              

“Remember when I tried to kill you?”

              

Sakura waves her hand. “I tried to kill you first.”

              

“So I’m not allowed to loathe myself because I tried to kill you in self-defense?”

              

“I’m telling you that you should stop loathing yourself and focus on things that are important. Like helping me figure out how to date women.”

              

Sasuke blinks at her. “What?”

              

“I don’t want the divorce process to be all miserable, you know,” Sakura says, her smile wide and mischievous. “I’ve never dated anybody before you, so. A learning experience. For me.” 

              

“No, I get that, I’m just—” Sasuke blinks again— “I don’t think you understand that I have no experience when it comes to women.”

        

“No, I understand that perfectly. I don’t have any experience when it comes to women either. But you—you’ve—wherever you go, women look at you.”

       

“Through no effort of my own.”

       

Sakura purses her lips together, looking at Sasuke with mild annoyance. “Will you help or not?”

              

“Sakura,” Sasuke says, leaning forward, “you’re a wonderful woman, you’re beautiful, and you’ve got an amazing personality. You can get any woman you want, just—go to a gay bar or something.”

 

“Does Konoha even have gay bars?”

 

“You can ask Sai.” 

 

Sakura reaches over to slap Sasuke’s hand, but she’s laughing. “He’s _married_! To Ino!” 

 

“And you’re married to me. What’s the point you’re trying to make?” Sasuke lifts a shoulder, a poor approximation of a shrug. “I can go with you, if you want. To a gay bar, and act as your wingman.” 

 

“So supportive,” Sakura says. “Where would I be without you?”

 

“In a better place.”

 

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself,” Sakura chides. “Without you, there is no Sarada.”

 

They talk, for a bit more, about small things. What Sarada did today, about Sakura’s patients, Sasuke’s next missions, how Sakura’s apartment is coming along. Sakura had bought an apartment, a week after Sasuke had agreed to the divorce, and she’d been setting it up. The house they lived in was in Sasuke’s name and Sakura had been adamant that she have a place of her own, and Sasuke had offered, politely, to help her buy one, and she’d refused. This was hers, and hers alone. 

 

It’s strange. This whole situation. He’s been thinking about it for a long, long time. How they’d gone so long, without even the bare bones of love between them, and how Sasuke had been fine with it. How long would he have gone on if Sakura hadn’t brought up the idea of divorce. How much of his life has he spent, being content with less than what he wanted? 

 

“Has Naruto spoken to you?” Sakura asks. 

 

“Not yet, no,” Sasuke answers. “I think he’s still in shock.”

 

“After a week?”

 

“Trauma,” he says, dismissive.

 

“This hardly counts as trauma,” Sakura says, an edge creeping into her voice. “It’s just his friends breaking up.”

 

“His best friends,” Sasuke gently corrects, “divorcing. After having a child.” 

 

“Same thing.”

 

“Not to him.” Sasuke takes another sip of the Koshu wine, and stares into his drink. “He said that since we have Sarada, we have to be more careful, or divorce after or something. To be honest, I think I sort of understand where he’s coming from. He never had a family, so to him, family’s the most important thing, even if it comes at the cost of happiness.” He scoffs, lightly, and can’t keep the fondness from creeping into his voice. “What an idiot.”

 

When he looks from his drink to look at Sakura, she’s looking at him with a strange, expression, as if realizing something for the first time. She’s worn that look on her face many times before—when she’s just figured out what’s wrong with a patient, when she finally finds out what Sarada wants when she’s acting cranky. 

 

“What?” Sasuke asks. 

 

“Nothing,” Sakura says. “I can’t even remember what I was thinking.” 

 

“Drunk?” 

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Just a stupid thought. When are you going to speak to Naruto again?” 

 

“When he wants to talk to me.”

 

“You’re avoiding him,” Sakura says. 

 

“I’m not. He’s avoiding me.” Sasuke lets out a huff. “I tried to go inside his house the other day, and he just shut the window in my face.” 

 

Sakura looks at Sasuke, mildly startled. “The window? Not the door?” 

 

“I don’t—” Sasuke coughs, a little awkwardly—“I don’t use his door. I use his window. It’s a thing we do.”

 

The strange look on Sakura’s face from earlier returns. “You never did that for me.” 

 

“Why would I ever do that for you?” 

 

Sakura sucks in her teeth. She downs the rest of her drink in one go, and Sasuke just stares at her, stupidly.

 

“You know what,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “This is too much for one night. I don’t think I can handle this. I’m going to leave. Good night.”

 

“What the hell,” Sasuke says, standing up right when Sakura does. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m _fine_ , Sasuke,” Sakura says, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “I have to go back to the apartment.”

 

“Let me walk you back home, at least?” Sasuke says. “I can leave a shadow clone behind for Sarada.” 

 

“Sasuke, darling, you’re talking to the strongest woman in Konoha.” 

 

Sasuke cracks a smile. “I’m trying to be courteous.”  
  
  


“And I’m going to follow up on your advice,” Sakura says. “I’m going to go to a gay bar.” 

 

The evening keeps getting more and more confusing. “Right now?I thought we’d go together?” 

 

Sakura reaches out, smoothens out the rumpled collar of Sasuke’s shirt. It never fails to astound Sasuke, how her hands—so capable of violence and brute strength—are capable of such small, affectionate gestures. 

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do tonight,” Sakura says. “But I feel like doing a lot of things, and I don’t think—” she lets out a hiccup of a laugh—“you should be there for any of them. Okay?”

 

What else can Sasuke, in his utter confusion, do except say, “Okay.” 

 

“Good.” She steps away from Sasuke, inhaling. “Thank you. I’ll come tomorrow to pick Sarada up for the week.”

 

She heads for the door, and Sasuke doesn’t stop her.

 

***

 

Kakashi had unmasked himself a long time ago, in front of Sasuke. It was right after Sarada was born, and Sasuke—tired and exhausted and giddy with the birth of his daughter—had walked outside, found Kakashi, dragged him into some empty hall and told him plainly that he was going to be godfather to Sarada. Kakashi had let out a slow, shaky breath, and he followed Sasuke back into the hospital room, completely dazed. Sakura was knocked out, and Sarada was in the cradle next to her, and Kakashi had peered into the little bed. Like he couldn’t believe such a small, fragile thing could exist.

 

He took off his mask, and all Sasuke could think how his sensei had such a normal face underneath it all. Sakura would have been disappointed. 

 

Naruto caught wind of Kakashi being godfather, and the following few days had whined and grumbled in Sasuke’s general direction about not being Sarada’s godfather, until Sasuke told him that he was going to be Sarada’s other father.

 

Of course, Naruto cried.

 

Naruto being upset about the divorce is starting to make more and more sense. 

 

“Congratulations on the divorce,” Kakashi says, as he opens the door. 

 

“Good evening to you too,” Sasuke says, as he steps inside Kakashi’s apartment, and shuffles his shoes off. 

 

“You’re not upset?” 

 

“Are you still going to cook for me?” Kakashi asks.

 

“Yes,” Sasuke says.

 

“And I’m still going to be Sarada’s godfather?” 

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then why should I be upset? Congratulations to the both of you.”

 

“Your priorities are incredible, Kakashi,” Sasuke says, as they both head deeper into the apartment. “Asking if I’d still cook for you before asking if Sarada’s still your goddaughter.”

 

Kakashi makes a light _tsk._ “Sustenance before feelings, Sasuke.”

 

The first time Sasuke had been to Kakashi’s apartment was during the chuunin exams. It was bare, except for the occasional potted plant, and at the time Sasuke had thought it was because Kakashi was so solely focused to being a ninja that he didn’t have time for distractions like decorations and interior design or photos. Sasuke was too young to realize it then, but it was evidence of a life lived in loneliness—no friends that could come over meant no need to make the place nicer, no people to cherish meant no photos adorning the walls. Sasuke should have recognized it, back then. His house was just like Kakashi’s—empty, barren, only a picture of their team, resting on the dresser. 

 

Things have changed in Kakashi’s apartment over the years. Iruka’s put up calendars, important dates circled in red. Pictures of Kakashi and Sasuke and Naruto and Sakura, hanging around the walls. Kakashi and Iruka. Kakashi and Gai. Sasuke and Kakashi, in the middle of a training session (who took that picture?). Kakashi holding Sarada and Boruto in both his arms, his face hidden by his mask, but the way the corner of his eyes crinkle up with joy in the photo shows just as much happiness as a smile. 

 

“I have some ground chicken,” Kakashi says, squatting in front of his open refrigerator. “Eggplants, dashi, oooh, I think that’s some mackerel, and broccoli.” 

 

Sasuke squats down next to Kakashi, to look into his fridge. “What’s that thing growing over there?” 

 

“What thing?”

 

“That dark-green thing.” 

 

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if Sasuke’s just pointed out a particularly interesting rock. “I think that’s mold.”

 

“Looks kind of like Gai, doesn’t it?”

 

Kakashi squints. “You’re right. It does.”

 

This all started a while ago, Sasuke coming over to Kakashi’s house to cook. At first, it was the first few months of Sakura and Sasuke’s marriage, where Sasuke thought it would be nice to help around with cooking at home—out of the two of them, Sakura was the one with the more consistent job, which meant staying overtime—and realized that in all his nineteen years of living, Sasuke barely knew how to cook anything beyond a pot of rice, soup, eggs and steamed vegetables. Cooking never seemed like anything worth his time, and then marrying Sakura looked like it could be a permanent thing, which meant cooking things for another person also seemed like it could be a permanent thing, so Sasuke found Kakashi and told him he was going to practice whatever meager cooking skills he had on him. 

 

And now they’re here.

 

“What are you making?” Kakashi asks, standing on his toes to peer over Sasuke’s shoulder. 

 

“Oyakodon,” Sasuke answers.

 

“I had eggs?”

 

“You had five.”

 

“Huh,” Kakashi says, looking at one of the eggs Sasuke laid out on the counter. “How did I miss that?”

 

“Don’t ask me,” Sasuke says, as he turns on Kakashi’s stove and sets a saucepan down. “It’s a miracle how you’re still Hokage.” 

 

“I have Iruka. Get a man, Sasuke,” Kakashi says. “They do all the work for you.” 

 

“I’ll wait until Sakura and I are legally divorced to try my luck at men,” Sasuke says. “Do you have rice?”

 

“Sakura’s not waiting, why should you? And of course I have rice. What kind of life do you think I lead?”

 

“One where you have mold growing in your fridge.”

 

“So, a good life?”

 

“Not much of a life if you die from food poisoning, Kakashi.”

 

Kakashi pats Sasuke’s head in a completely avuncular manner. “It’s a good life if you’ve been cooking for me, Sasuke.”

 

Sasuke is a little horrified to discover that Kakashi’s head pat is making him feel a little better. 

 

At first, Sasuke came over to Kakashi’s to see what Kakashi’s admittedly normal palate might like. Sakura had a normal sense of taste too, while Sasuke, who only ever ate things to bulk up or for sustenance couldn’t tell undersalted from too salty, burnt from just perfectly roasted. Kakashi was his taste-tester. And then Sasuke improved, but he still came over to Kakashi’s to cook. The habit had stuck, and Sasuke and Kakashi were too lazy to do anything about it.

 

(And Sasuke was sure that Kakashi was glad of his company, but he’d probably never admit it outright.)

 

(Sasuke’s also sure that Kakashi knows his student likes coming over, but he’d never admit it either. They’re similar in that way. Never admitting things, not explicitly.) 

 

Cooking together is an excuse for them to talk to each other. When Sasuke cuts up chicken, Kakashi asks him about Sarada. When Kakashi puts a pot of rice on for boiling, Sasuke asks him about his problems as Hokage. The conversation turns, as it inevitably does, towards Sasuke’s divorce. And Naruto.

 

“He’s angry at me,” Sasuke says, as he cracks the last of the eggs into a bowl. “It’s so stupid.” 

 

Kakashi picks up the egg shells, tosses them into the garbage. “That’s strange. Did you divorce him? What’s he angry at you for?”

 

“I think I might know.” Sasuke whisks the eggs together. “I feel like it has to do with the fact that he thought that because Sakura and I got married and had a daughter, we’d stay like that for the rest of our lives.” He tosses the chopsticks into the sink. “One happy family.”

 

For a while, Kakashi stays silent. He watches Sasuke drizzle the whisked eggs onto the simmering chicken and turn the heat down to medium, watches Sasuke wash the bowls and utensils he used to make the dish. 

 

“What if he’s angry for another reason?”

 

Sasuke turns the tap off. “Like what?”

 

“What if he’s afraid?”

 

“Afraid of us not being friends anymore because of the divorce?”

 

“Afraid that it could happen to him and Hinata.” 

 

Sasuke looks at Kakashi.

 

“What? You don’t think Naruto and Hinata’s marriage might be as shaky as yours?” Kakashi asks, as if it was always obvious.

 

“He loves Hinata.” Sasuke dries his wet hand on his shirt. “He told me himself.”

 

“Correction—Hinata loved him, and then he loved her. They didn’t exactly fall in love at the same time.”

 

“What difference does that make?”

 

“All I’m saying,” Kakashi says, slowly, like Sasuke’s a moron, “is that Naruto’s never been the type to turn love away. In fact, I’d say he’s always been too grateful for it.”

 

Sasuke checks on the oyakodon, which looks like it’s almost near completion. “So what you’re saying is that Naruto’s confused gratefulness for someone having romantic feelings for him as genuine, actual, romantic love.”

 

“Yes. Think about it—who marries their first girlfriend?” 

 

“I did.”

 

“And we all know how that turned out, don’t we.”

 

The oyakodon is done, and so is the rice. Sasuke pokes the oyakodon with a chopstick. “I made too much.” He doesn’t acknowledge Kakashi’s words at all. 

 

“You made a perfect amount. I have a guest coming over today.”

 

Sasuke snaps his head up to look at Kakashi, affixing him with the deadliest gaze Sasuke can muster. Kakashi looks completely unfazed. 

 

“Why the hell would you invite Naruto?” Sasuke asks, not quite angry, but dangerously close to it. 

 

“Because Sakura told me about how you two haven’t been talking to each other,” Kakashi says. “You’re grown adults. You should be adults about this.”

 

“I’ve tried. I’ve _tried_. He’s the one who doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

 

“Maybe having another person around will help.”

 

There’s a knock on the door, loud and clear. 

 

Sasuke sets the chopstick down next to the stove. “Does he know I’m here?”

 

“No,” Kakashi answers.

 

Another knock, and Naruto’s voice, yelling, “Kakashi-sensei! I know you’re in there, old man!” 

 

Kakashi moves to open the door, but before he does so, he tells Sasuke, “Be civil.”

 

Like Sasuke needs to be told that. He inhales. Exhales. Sighs. He can hear Naruto and Kakashi talking, their voices growing louder and louder as they approach the kitchen. And then Naruto grows quiet.

 

Sasuke turns around, and there he is. Naruto. Naruto looks away, at Kakashi—like Kakashi’s to blame for that sudden and awkward silence—and then he glances back at Sasuke again. His gaze is elusive, like he’d 

rather look at anything but at Sasuke.

 

It’s pissing Sasuke off.

 

“Hey, Naruto,” Sasuke says.

 

Naruto’s not looking at Sasuke. “Hey, Sasuke.”

 

“Well,” Kakashi says, and he slaps his hands together, startling Naruto. “You both better sit in the living room. I’ll get the plates and glasses ready! Naruto—” Kakashi claps his hand over Naruto’s shoulder—“you and Sasuke haven’t talked in a while, right?”

 

Kakashi can go from rooftop to rooftop without making a sound, he can travel across an entire battleground without alerting enemy presence, he can neutralize an entire squad and not leave a trace he was ever there, but when it comes to things like these, he’s about as subtle as a bomb.

 

Naruto doesn’t say anything back to Kakashi, though. He only pouts—like a child—and mutters something about at least letting him know Sasuke was here. He shuffles into the living room, not looking to see if Sasuke is following him.

 

Sasuke is following him.

 

Kakashi winks at Sasuke as he leaves the room. Of course Kakashi thinks himself a genius for this. Of course.

 

“Why the hell have you not been talking to me?” Sasuke asks, as soon as they’re alone in the living room together.

 

“What are you talking about?” Naruto asks, flopping down on the couch. Still pouting, still refusing to look at Sasuke.

 

There is a bottle of sake on the table, one that wasn’t there. A gift then, from Naruto. It’s the brand he likes. 

 

“You’re still angry about the divorce, aren’t you?” Sasuke asks. 

 

“No,” Naruto mutters. He glances at Sasuke. “Well. Maybe. A little.” 

 

Sasuke grabs the bottle of sake from the coffee table, and sits down right next to Naruto on the couch. He holds the bottle out for Naruto to uncork, which Naruto does. 

 

“I thought you were fine. After that night, when I first told you,” Sasuke says, like Naruto doesn’t know this already. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

 

“Yes. Well,” Naruto says, and he grabs the bottle from Sasuke. He takes a sip. “I don’t think I have.”

 

“You literally shut the door on me when I came over to your house,” Sasuke says.

 

“I had things to do.”

 

Sasuke presses on. “You ran away from Ichiraku’s when you saw me.” 

 

“I left the oven on.”

 

“Naruto,” Sasuke says. “You’re pissing me off.”

 

“Fuck off,” Naruto says, his voice rising. “How do you think I feel?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Sasuke snaps back. “You won’t tell me.”

 

Naruto says nothing. Sasuke takes the bottle from Naruto’s hand, and takes a swig right out of it, the alcohol blazing a trail down his throat and pooling fire in his gut. When he sets the bottle down on the coffee table, his ears feel warm. Naruto is staring at him.

 

“I need,” Naruto starts. Stops. His eyes dart to Sasuke’s mouth. “I just—it’s something I need to think about.”

 

“My divorce? That has _nothing_ to do with you?”

 

“Not that, you asshole.” Naruto isn’t angry, but Sasuke knows him well enough to know that he’s on that edge. “Why you two divorced.”

 

“I told you,” Sasuke says. “It’s because we don’t—there isn’t much love between us.”

 

“How stupid do you think I am that I don’t know there’s more to it? That’s what gets me. When did we stop telling each other everything?”

 

The answer comes to Sasuke without even a moment’s thinking. “When you married Hinata.”

 

“So you think marriage drove us apart,” Naruto says.

 

“I don’t. I think you started to prioritize your family over me—which is understandable—and we just forgot how to talk to each other.”

 

“I’m talking to you right now.”

 

“Naruto,” Sasuke says, slowly. “You know that’s not what I mean.” 

 

Naruto looks down at his hands, and Sasuke looks at Naruto’s hands too. One bandaged, and one bare. Both of them are clenched. It makes Sasuke’s heart squeeze in his chest.

 

“I just,” Naruto says, opening and closing his fists, grasping for something that isn’t there, “I just wish I saw it coming. I thought I knew you two, and I thought I knew what love looked like between you both. That’s all.”

 

“That’s not worth avoiding me over,” Sasuke says.

 

“I know. I _know_. It’s weird.” He glances up at Sasuke, from underneath the fringe of his lashes. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Sasuke says. He smiles, because how is he not supposed to? “I get it. Kind of.”

 

“Kind of,” Naruto repeats. He’s smiling too. “I acted like a girl didn’t I?”

 

“No,” Sasuke says. He can feel his smile turn mischievous. “Even Sarada would act better than you.”

 

“Shut up,” Naruto says, but his smile has stretched out into a grin. “Asshole.”

 

“Idiot.”

 

“Duck-butt.”

 

“Baldy.”

 

“Okay!” Kakashi says, and he saunters into the living room, somehow balancing three bowls of rice with oyakodon and three glasses. “Whew! It was tough finding matching bowls, and glasses, but I did it!”

 

Naruto and Sasuke look at each other, and Sasuke knows that Naruto is thinking the same thing as him: that Kakashi set them both up, that he was listening the whole time.

 

Somehow, Sasuke doesn’t mind. 

***

They have dinner. They talk. Not about divorce, but about other things. It’s good. There’s something good about just talking like this, with old friends, basking in the simplicity of a good meal. More than once, Sasuke catches Naruto glancing at him, and Naruto glances away, smiling to himself. 

 

Dinner’s over. Kakashi clears away the dishes, and Sasuke and Naruto linger around, but Kakashi says something about how it’s a weekday and he needs time to himself, and so, he kicks Naruto and Sasuke out, both of them a little tipsy off of the sake they’d drunk at dinner.

 

It’s late. Sasuke is happy, content. He walks alongside Naruto, who, despite obviously radiating the sort of sickening warmth that comes from a good mood like he always does, is staying quiet. The streets aren’t bustling, not like on a weekend night, so there’s no reason that Sasuke and Naruto should walk back so close together. But they do. Shoulder to shoulder. 

 

“Hey, Sasuke,” Naruto says, finally. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and like this, just like this—under lamplight and a clear night sky—Naruto looks young. They’re both young, Sasuke knows this, but it’s hard to remember sometimes.

 

“Hey,” Sasuke says. “What’s up?”

 

“Are you gonna start dating?”

 

Sasuke stops dead in his tracks. “Repeat that?”

 

“Dating,” Naruto repeats. “Are you going to date anybody?”

 

“I,” Sasuke starts. “Good question. I have no idea.”

 

“Why not? You should. If I had a face like yours, I’d go around dating whatever pretty girl looked at me.”

 

“Didn’t you have a lot of girls trailing after you after the war?” Sasuke says, pinching Naruto’s arm. “Why didn’t _you_ date any girl?”

 

“Stop pinching me!” He swats at Sasuke’s hand, and tries to pinch Sasuke’s face, but he ducks right out of the way. “Augh! I don’t know! I just didn’t date any girl. I don’t think I liked any of them until I got to know Hinata a bit more.” 

 

“So she’s your type, huh? Dark and long hair, and quiet, and big—”

 

“If you finish that sentence, Sasuke—”

 

“—brains. You think too little of me, Naruto.”

 

“I could never think too little of you. What’s your type, then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sasuke says, and it’s the truth. “I’ve never thought about it before.”

 

“Think.”

 

“If I had to,” Sasuke says, and he closes his eyes, pretending to be deep in thought. “If I _had_ to, I’d say I want someone that made me feel like I was home. Safe. Happy.” 

 

Naruto lets out a breath of a laugh. “Most people would describe what they think is physically attractive in a person.”

 

“I guess I’m not most people,” Sasuke says, lightly.

 

He can hear the fondness seeping out of Naruto’s voice. Too much affection for Sasuke’s throwaway line. “I know.”

 

“I think what I’d really want,” Sasuke continues, “is someone who understood me. Someone who’d lay their life down for me, no matter what.” 

 

“Someone devoted to you,” Naruto says.

 

“No,” Sasuke says. “Someone who sees me, for all I am, even the horrible parts, and still decides to hold onto me. Not try and change me and make me something I’m not, but just held onto me. That’s the kind of person I could fall in love with.”

 

Naruto stays silent for a while, probably thinking over Sasuke’s words. Which Sasuke enjoys. He likes Naruto like this, contemplative and thoughtful, right where Sasuke can see him.

 

“Is there anybody,” Naruto says, so quiet that the words feel fragile in the night air, “who came close to that? Understanding you.”

 

“Not really.” Sasuke doesn’t think before answering. “You, I guess.” 

 

“You guess.” 

 

Naruto stops walking. And so does Sasuke. Naruto looks at Sasuke with a furrow in his brow, and Sasuke’s stomach pans out from under him. It dawns on him that he’s given the wrong answer to Naruto, because now the air between them feels different. Heavier, almost. Charged with something that Sasuke can’t name. Full of possibility. It makes Sasuke sick. 

 

“You understand me,” Sasuke says, trying to lighten up the sudden tension in the air. “And I love you like a brother, but I just need to find someone who’ll do that for me and whom I can love _romantically_.”

 

“Like a brother,” Naruto says. 

 

“Do you just want to repeat the things I say?”

 

“What if,” Naruto says and stops. He bites his lip, and Sasuke thinks Naruto must have drunk more than him, much, _much_ more than him, because there’s a flush in Naruto’s face, that Sasuke has failed to notice until now. 

 

“What if what?”

 

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” 

 

“You have to tell me now. You know that. Just get it over with.”

 

“It’s a bad idea.”

 

“Naruto,” Sasuke says. “When have your ideas ever been good?”

 

“What if,” Naruto tries again. He inhales, and exhales, and Sasuke wonders if he’s going to throw up. “What if I was a woman. And not married to Hinata. Would you have—”

 

The axis of Sasuke’s world has tipped upside down. He places his hand on Naruto’s chest, gently. Stops him from saying any other word, before things get a little too dangerous. 

 

“You’re drunk,” Sasuke says. He says it like it’s a fact; no room for denial. “Don’t finish that question.”

 

“I’m drunk,” Naruto says.

 

“We’re friends,” Sasuke says. Another fact, solid in its unchangeable reality. His hand curls in the fabric of Naruto’s shirt. “Don’t concern yourself with what- _ifs_. You have a wife.”

 

“You don’t.”

 

“You’re confused. You’re drunk, and you’re confused.”

 

“Don’t tell me what I am.”

 

“I know you better than you know yourself,” Sasuke says. “Trust me when I say you’re having some really stupid shit float around in your head.”

 

Naruto glances down at Sasuke’s hand on his chest. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

 

Sasuke uncurls his hand from Naruto’s shirt. Takes his hand off. His hand is warmer than it was before. “When have I ever listened to whatever you told me?”

 

Naruto’s mouth curves into a small, boyish smile. It’s stupid, how Naruto can be all schoolboy charm and rough around the edges and incredibly grown up, all at the same time, and have all these parts of himself co-exist with each other. It’s stupid because Sasuke wonders if there’s these other parts of Naruto that Sasuke hasn’t seen. It’s stupid because Sasuke wants to see every single side of him. It’s especially stupid because Sasuke’s thinking all these things, right now, when Naruto nearly said something incredibly dangerous, and when Sasuke’s world is swaying with Naruto’s unfinished question.

 

“Never,” Naruto says, after a pause. “You never listen to me.”

 

They don’t speak for the rest of the walk back to Naruto’s home. 

 

When they do get there, they both stop at the gate. Naruto turns to look at Sasuke, and he glances at Sasuke’s mouth and leans forward. For a moment—no, a fraction of a moment—Sasuke has the absurd idea that Naruto’s going to kiss him. 

 

Nothing happens. Naruto’s hugging him.

 

Relief floods Sasuke’s chest, and he lets out a breath as he pats Naruto’s back.

 

“I’m sorry I ignored you,” Naruto mutters, into Sasuke’s shoulder. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sasuke says. He pats Naruto’s back again. 

 

“And I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” Naruto peels himself off of Sasuke, his eyes downcast. “About me being a woman and not being married. You were right. It was stupid.”

 

“Stop apologizing, Naruto. I’m not used to it. Not from someone as rude from you.”

 

Naruto smiles. “Asshole.”

 

“Moron.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Shitface.”

 

“Goodnight, Sasuke.”

 

“Goodnight, Naruto.”

 

Naruto opens the gate. He walks towards his house. He doesn’t put the key in, not yet, because he turns to look at Sasuke standing at the gate, and something about that gesture, the simplicity of it, the looking back, makes Sasuke’s heart leap to his throat. 

 

And then Naruto opens the door, slips inside, and Sasuke’s heart is back in his chest. 

 

Sasuke goes back home, his heart right where it belongs. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy pride month and late eid mubarak! hopefully i can get this entire fic done before pride ends, since i have some parts already written out. apologies for the short chapter, but i hope to update it tomorrow
> 
> notes about this fic: this is an attempt at me trying to give sakura and sasuke, characters whom i both love immensely, some modicum of respect and to rationalize their...fucking...marriage. and to insert a personality into hinata, and try and explore nh and ss marriages with my own interpretations, with the intent of having them all be in relationships with other people at the end of it.


End file.
